The Pancake Predicament
by Lightsider
Summary: On his second Father's Day at Wayne Manor, Dick decides to make pancakes. -or- The reason Dick's not allowed unsupervised kitchen use, which isn't fair. The pancakes were delicious, and he was 10!


Dick jumped out of bed and rolled onto his feet. Excitement raced in his veins and arteries. He had been waiting for today ever since he had convinced Alfred that he was capable of cooking a few basic things without supervision. Dick knew that the butler could be just as overprotective as Batman when it came to his kitchen, so he had woken up very early to guarantee that there wouldn't be any prying eyes offering their protection. He was going to make pancakes for _both_ Bruce and Alfred, and they would be ready before either of them woke up.

As much as Dick wanted to race down the stairs, he resisted the urge. It wouldn't do any good to ignore all his new stealth training before he even got started this morning. Avoiding the floorboards that creaked, Dick stepped softly through the hallway and then ran on the balls of his feet down the stairs and into the kitchen, making only the slightest sound, which still sounded too loud in his ears. He breathed a sigh of relief when there were no responding sounds. Both Alfred and Bruce should still be asleep.

Dick grinned. He stepped into the pantry to gather his needed supplies. He spotted a bag of pancake mix on the top shelf of the pantry out of his reach, but no matter. If Robin could scale buildings, Dick could easy scale pantry shelves. He scurried up the selves quickly, dodging various jars and cans. He hefted himself onto the last pantry shelf. Reaching behind the flour and sugar, Dick grabbed the blue bag of pancake mix when he felt a shift in the wood shelf beneath him.

Uh. Oh.

The young acrobat jumped off the shelving doing a double summersault with the blue bag of pancake mix tight against his chest. He landed lightly on his feet as he heard the loud smashing of the pantry shelves crashing into one another, glass shattering, and the thud, thud of cans landing on the floor.

Dick held his breath and prayed to any being that would hear him that Alfred and Bruce wouldn't wake up. He mentally counted to ten before deciding the coast was clear. He had gotten incredibly lucky. Deciding that it was better not to try his luck, Dick left the mess to be cleaned up while Bruce and Alfred ate. He needed to get the pancakes made before the whole kitchen fell down around his ears.

After pulling the eggs out of the refrigerator and opening the cartoon, Dick stared at the oblong objects. They reminded him of the balls Trixie used to teach him how to juggle. He plucked three eggs from the container and tossed them into the air. Grinning as the familiar motion transported him to a different time and place, Dick tossed a few more in the air. Half a dozen eggs flew through the air in tight circles. Up for a challenge, he tried to toss a few behind his back in an attempt for a figure eight motion – except he tossed too high and the egg cracked and splattered onto one of the kitchen cabinets. The noise distracted Dick and the remaining five eggs fell onto the counter, the floor, and one landed on his head.

Oops.

The sounds and the yolk dripping onto his forehead jolted Dick back to the present. He gulped as he looked at the kitchen. He needed to focus and get the pancakes made….and keep Alfred out of the kitchen until Dick had a chance to clean up.

With a new determined focus, Dick decided that it would be faster if he used the mixer that was sitting on the counter rather than mix everything by hand. Dick tossed the mix, an egg, and some milk into the mixer. Then he turned the mixer on to its highest setting.

That was a mistake.

The mixer made a horrible growling noise and the bowl nearly spun out of its slot. Batter splattered everywhere. Dick lunged for the cord and tugged fiercely. The thing went mercifully quiet. He grabbed one of the dish towels and wiped the batter of his face.

Quickly and quietly Dick grabbed a whisk and stirred the batter until it looked like the right consistency. Then he carefully turned on the stove and started the pancakes. Surprisingly, the part with fire had the least issues. Dave, the circus firebreather, had always drilled into Dick's head the importance of staying vigilant while using fire.

Dick forced himself to focus on the pancakes as they slowly – really slowly – started bubbling. He flipped four pancakes into the air and placed them on a plate. He had enough batter for one or two more pancakes left when a wonderful idea occurred to him. He should add sprinkles to the last pancakes.

He dashed into the pantry, only to remember that the pantry was currently on the floor and a mess. Maybe sprinkles would have to wait. Dick was about to return to the stove when a small container of sprinkles underneath a spilled bag of sugar caught his eye. Careful to avoid glass, he walked over and picked up the sprinkles.

And that's when the smoke alarm started.

SHOOT.

He had left a pancake on the pan. Running back to the stove, Dick turned the burner off. There was no way Bruce and Alfred didn't hear that.

In fact, Bruce burst through the door with his I'm-Batman-and-this-is-serious face… only for it to be replaced by another expression Dick hadn't seen on his guardian's face before.

"Dick, are you okay?"

He nodded, but his wide eyes took in the kitchen as a whole for the first time. It was a disaster. The pantry was on the floor. Glass shards coated half of the kitchen floor. Raspberry preservative splattered across one of the legs of the kitchen chairs. The walls and ceiling were stained with pancake batter. Cracked eggs decorated the cabinets, and a light covering of pancake mix settled over everything.

"Please don't tell Alfred."

But his plea was in vain, Alfred opened the kitchen door the moment the sentence was out of Dick's mouth. His face was pale, and his mouth parted in a soft gasp.

Dick raised his plate of pancakes as a peace offering. "I made pancakes. For um. For Father's Day." He couldn't look at either of them as he stumbled the words out. "I'm sorry about the mess. I'll clean it up. Right away."

He heard Alfred mumbling in that soft shocked tone, but he didn't look up until Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder. He was wearing his I'm-highly-amused-but-I'm-too-Batman-to-show-it face, causing Dick's lips to turn upwards on their own. Maybe he would survive this. Bruce flicked his eyes over to Alfred and Dick followed his gaze.

Alfred was pacing and talking to himself as he catalogued every ingredient that was now on the floor. He still looked paler than normal to Dick, but the sight of the butler in his striped pajamas and white slippers pacing furiously caused a chuckle to erupt out of Dick. He regretted it as soon as Alfred's eyes focused on him. For a brief second, Dick feared Alfred was going to yell at him, but instead, he sighed.

"I suppose this is my own fault. I did agree to unsupervised kitchen use," Alfred intoned with a pained look on his face. Dick knew Bruce had promised that Dick would always have a home here, but irrationally fear clutched at his fragile heart. This was it. Alfred was going to throw Dick out.

"I'm going to clean it up," Dick insisted.

"Master Grayson, I would prefer it if you refrained from helping in my kitchen for the time being."

Feeling miserable, Dick tried and failed to swallow the rock in his throat. Bruce steered him out of the kitchen.

"Come on, chum. These look delicious," Bruce said with a smile.

Blinking back soft tears, Dick smiled back.

At the table, Bruce ate the pancakes dry. He told Dick that the pancakes were so good that they didn't need syrup. Dick knew he meant that not even Batman was brave enough to dare going back into the kitchen. Dick had really messed up.

"Hey," Bruce placed his hand to cup Dick's face and gently titled his head to make eye contact. "Thank you," he whispered with such quiet sincerity that Dick had to believe him.

Dick felt heat rising to his cheeks and he squirmed away from the praise. "But I made a mess."

"Yes, you did," Bruce agreed easily, which Dick hardly found comforting. "But you also made pancakes. It was…"

Dick knew his guardian was searching his vocabulary for a word that wasn't sweet – Batman didn't use words like sweet – but his ten-year-old ward would understand. Dick grinned and let his mentor off the hook. He understood Bruce, even if Bruce sometimes didn't always understand himself. That was okay. Dick's pancakes were appreciated. That was all that mattered.

Oh! That reminded him.

Dick jumped off his kitchen chair and ran up the stairs to his room. He grabbed the two wrapped boxes off his desk and raced back down the stairs.

When Dick returned to the dining room, Alfred was talking to Bruce about the need for an exterminator to check for terminates. Oh, that made sense. The pantry shelves shouldn't have just collapsed like that. Dick was always being told how small he was for his age. On one hand, it was almost a good thing that Dick discovered this problem….although, he was smart enough not to mention that. Alfred hadn't tied him to a stake yet, but it was still in the realm of possibilities.

He pushed the two presents two the two men. "Um. These are for you. Thank you for um taking me in and um not trying. And not being. I mean." Dick took a deep breath. "Thank you for not replacing my parents."

Last year, they hadn't celebrated Father's Day. It was too close to the day Dick lost everything, and Dick had cried through both Mother's and Father's Day. Today, Dick was determined to focus on happy memories. He missed his parents more than he could imagine, but he knew his dad would tell a joke and make Dick laugh. His mother always said his laugh sounded like chimes. Tears gathered in his eyes again.

No. No. He would not cry today.

Bruce and Alfred gave Dick twin looks of sympathy, and Dick forced a smile on his face. Here and now, there were two people, who had cared for Dick after everything. It was only fitting that Dick honored them.

They opened their boxes, and silence descended on the room. The weight felt oppressive to Dick's tiny shoulders.

Oh. No. They didn't like them. He knew the idea was lame, but what did one get a billionaire and his butler anyway.

A hand squeezed Dick's shoulder and Dick looked up into Bruce's soft blue eyes. He was wearing his I'm-happy-and-you're-the-only-one-I'll-show-it-to face. Dick gave a weak grin in reply. Maybe he hadn't messed up.

"They're beautiful."

"I made them from the newspaper announcing your guardianship," Dick explained. "Mr. Lee, our lion tamer, taught me how."

Bruce was still wearing his soft smile. He set the two origami pieces, a bat and a robin in flight, on the table and pulled his shoulders just slightly back. Dick knew what that meant. In less than a second, he flew into his guardian's arms. Bruce caught him with a soft oomph.

"You're getting soft," Dick teased.

Bruce mock glared, but Dick could see the smile underneath. Batman was really a big softie. Most people just didn't know to look for it.

"Thank you, Master Dick," Alfred said. He cradled the soft owl in his hands.

Bruce sent Alfred a funny look that Dick couldn't decipher.

Instead, he replied, "I made you an owl cuz you're so wise."

"Because," Alfred corrected gently. "Well, I trust that you will trust my wisdom in not using the kitchen unsupervised again."

Guilt threatened to overtake him, but Dick nodded.

"Good." Alfred nodded, and that was the end of that discussion. "Seeing as the sun hasn't risen yet, might I suggest a movie?"

Dick ignored the pointed glance at Dick for choosing to make pancakes at 4:30 in the morning. It was hardly his fault that Alfred woke up at the crack of dawn. He squealed in delight as he tugged Bruce towards the TV room.

If less than an hour later, Alfred found his charges curled up together on the couch, Dick laying on top of Bruce's chest, well, there was no harm in allowing them their sleep. After all, Wayne Manor hadn't celebrated Father's Day in a long, long time.

 **Author's Note: Northoftheroad requested young Dick and Bruce bonding. In chapter 13 of Incomitatus, Dick mentions the time he made pancakes unsupervised and how pancake batter ended up on the ceiling - this is that story.**

 **Northoftheroad has also pointed out to me that while it is popular fandom that Dick Grayson can't cook, he's shown cooking in the comics several times. So can Dick cook? Yes. Does Alfred give him a look every time he attempts to cook in Alfred's kitchen? Also yes.**

 **This will be the last fluff prompt before I post the next chapter of And Here You Are Living, but I will get to the requests. Next fluff prompt will be Jay and Tim bonding.**


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